Angel of Music
by xx.just.a.contradiction.xx
Summary: Sitting a grand piano just beside the window was an angel. He was extremely beautiful with windswept bronze hair, his long ivory fingers trailing up and down the keys and his eyes closed gently as if he were dreaming..


**Angel of Music**

_Who is this angel?  
This Angel of Music?  
Hide no longer,  
secret and strange angel._

'Hurry _up_, Elena! We'll be late!'

Pausing in the midst of pretending to rebutton her boot, Elena Grady gazed wistfully at the small but graceful two-storey house she'd stopped outside. Her favourite house on the street, it was old, white and beautiful, and often as she trailed after her impatient, snot-nosed older brother, she liked to pause outside and watch it carefully with her wide, keen grey eyes. It did not, with it's climbing vines and pretty white trellises, particularly stand out in a street of upper-class, elaborately detailed Victorian houses, but it wasn't its exterior that attracted her – it was what it housed that caused her to stop and wait outside it for a few stolen minutes every morning.

'_Elena!_'

Scowling, she waved Scott away impatiently and moved closer to the house, peering through the tangled vines to find what she knew would be there. She squinted, moving to the left slightly, and then the right, until – ah. There he was.

Sitting a grand piano just beside the window was an angel.

He was extremely beautiful with windswept bronze hair, his long ivory fingers trailing up and down the keys and his eyes closed gently as if he were dreaming. He was the vision of perfection, the face of an archangel, but even then, he wasn't what Elena was spellbound by…

….it was the music, drifting lazily from the piano and out through the hidden pores in the window to frolic in the open air, that had caught and held her attention so thoroughly. A complex weave of melodies and cascading harmonies the composition was beautiful, inexplicably full of both sorrow and joy, and it moved Elena's soul in a way that nothing else ever had in her brief, decade-long existence.

'Elena, what the blazes are you – _oh, not again._'

Scott heaved a longsuffering sigh and shook his head, stomping back to where his sister stood motionlessly enthralled at the window. 'What? What is it?'

Elena, transfixed, ignored him until, irritated, he leant over and plucked several strands of her chestnut hair from her head in a painful way only brothers can manage.

'Ow!' she cried, turning to retaliate by slapping his arm spitefully.

He hit back and they stood, pummeling each other for several minutes, cursing and hissing, until a slight, almost inaudible catch in the music still playing in the background alerted Elena to the volume of their fight. She gasped, horrified, and made to stop, but Scott, who had heard nothing, belted her again and a short, sharp scream tore from her throat before she could stop it.

The music faltered and then stopped, and together the siblings stood immobile as the creak of footsteps on wooden floorboards crept outside and the angelic face was suddenly at the window, glaring directly at them through the vine-laced trellises. At the sight of the face at the window, Scott balked and took off, dragging his sister along with him as he trampled down the sidewalk at full pace.

'Stop! Stop!' Elena shrieked, fighting with her brother, who didn't stop until they'd reached the corner right down the other end of the street. When he finally stopped running she threw his hand off hers and scowled at him, her little face scarlet with rage. 'See what you did!'

'I didn't – do – anything!' he puffed, doubled over with exhaustion.

'You made him stop playing! What if he never plays again?!'

He rolled his eyes. 'Of course he will. Besides, he wasn't all that wonderful anyway.'

'What?' she stared at him, openmouthed. 'You're joking; his music is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard!'

'Oh, stop being so dramatic,' said Scott scathingly, scoffing and turning away. 'Come on, we're late for school.'

She fumed, ready to hit him again, but with one last, wistful gaze at the small white house she turned on her heel and hurried after him, her chestnut curls bouncing behind her as she ran.

-:-

It was late, about one o'clock in the morning, and Elena couldn't sleep.

Tossing and turning in her bed, she fretted anxiously, the anger on the pianist's angelic face tormenting her in the darkness. She loved his music so much, it was by far her favourite part of the day, and she was frightened horribly by the thought that she might have disrupted his playing. To think that she might never hear his soaring, mystical compositions ever again… it was unimaginable.

She lay still, trying her hardest to get to sleep so she could rush to the corner in the morning to see whether he was playing or not. The house creaked the secret sounds of a building when its inhabitant are all abed, the trees outside rustled slightly in the autumn breeze, and all of it, the natural, quiet noises, combined to keep her wide awake, irritated and completely unable to appreciate their beauty.

Just as her eyes began to droop, the first, barely audible strains of a familiar composition reached her ears and she sat up, gasping with surprise. Could it be? She frowned, willing her heart and breathing to quiet themselves so she could hear. Surely, it had to be… Straining to listen, her face screwed up with concentration, Elena bit her lip; the music was soft, lilting and quiet like a lullaby. She listened harder, trying to catch whether there were any of those cascading, exquisite harmonies that were the angel's signature trademark – yes, there were! She grinned, her heart dancing exuberantly as a delicate, intricate weave of harmonies floated into the room.

So, he was playing again, no harm done.

She smiled to herself, intensely happy that she hadn't ruined the musical experience for either her neighbour or herself. But just as she was about to settle down again, happy and comfortable in her bed and ready to fall asleep to his lullaby, there was a sharp, jolting catch in the music before it halted altogether, leaving an empty silence in the room.

She couldn't take it, she wouldn't.

Leaping to her feet and putting on her dressing-gown and slippers, she tip-toed silently out of the room and down the stairs towards the kitchen, where she knew the door would be unlocked. Carefully inching the door open, she slipped through the gap and closed it again before running down to the front gate and letting herself through. Free now she ran desperately, her shadow weaving in and out of the streetlamps as she headed towards the pretty white house on the corner, the home of her beloved music.

Skidding to a halt outside the window, she grabbed a hold of two of the white wrought-iron bars, her face pressed up to the space between them as she stared hungrily into the window. The angel was at the piano, his back stooped as he leant forwards to rest his forehead on the mahogany top. His long white hands were gripped in the midst of his copper hair and his body was rigid with suppressed emotion.

Elena was horrified, sure that this was a result of her and Scott's interruption that morning. A little gasp slipped from her throat before she could stop it and she trembled, frightened, as he tensed and looked around, quite as if he'd heard it. His curiously coloured eyes met hers and widened a little with surprise, before he got up from the piano and walked across the room, reaching forwards to open the window.

Backing away, Elena caught her heel on a loose stone on the ground and tumbled over backwards, sure that she could see the same anger in his face that she'd seen this morning. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for him to rage at her, blame her for his creative troubles, perhaps even throw something at her –

'What are you doing?'

Her eyes snapped open, shocked as she took in the low, musical quality of his silky voice. He didn't sound angry at all.

'I-' she started, before stopping, unsure of what to say.

He arched a graceful eyebrow at her. 'You're very young to be wandering around on your own, where are your parents?'

She had the decency to look abashed.

'You snuck out of the house?' he guessed.

She nodded. 'I could hear you playing.'

'Was I keeping you awake?'

'No!' she said quickly. 'Not at all.'

He eyed her thoughtfully. 'You like my music?'

'Oh yes!' she cried enthusiastically, before pausing and flushing red with embarrassment. 'I mean… it's beautiful, yes.'

A reluctant smile crept onto his angel's face.

'You've listened at the window often,' he said quietly, his tone of voice alerting her to the fact it wasn't a question.

'How did you –'

He interrupted. 'I've seen you. Every morning, about eight-thirty, you stop for a little while and listen.'

'You always play at that time,' she said. 'I've never heard you play at night before.'

'I'm writing a new song,' he replied before smiling again. 'Though _technically_ it's morning anyway.'

She giggled before pausing, looking anxiously at the house. 'Do you think they'll know I'm gone?'

He thought for a moment, as if listening to something.

'Not yet,' he said. 'Though they might if you don't go back soon.'

'Oh.'

He laughed. 'Wait there, I'll come and walk you home.'

'You don't –' she started but stopped and he chuckled again.

'I'll be around in a second.'

She barely had time to blink before he was strolling around the fence, his pale face almost luminescent in the darkness.

'Shall we, ma'am?' he drawled, extending an arm to invite her to lead the way.

They walked along slowly in silence, though Elena was sure that if he listened hard enough he could hear her heart thumping a tango in her chest. His lips twitching in the corners, Elena swore he could and flushed, embarrassed. Seeming to realise this, he began to hum softly, merely a sound to her at first before she recognised the melody.

'That's one of your songs,' she said, beaming at him he simply nodded and continued.

All too quickly they reached the gate to the house. Here, he stopped and opened the gate for her.

'Well, this is as far as I go,' he said, closing the picket swing-gate behind after she'd slipped inside. 'Good night, Elena.'

She smiled and made to turn away before stopping short. As if realising he'd made some terrible slip-up, the angel scowled, his body tensing as he fought to keep his facial expression nonchalant.

'How did you know?' she asked, bewildered.

'My father's the town doctor,' he replied flawlessly, though she noted his eyes shifted a little when he spoke. 'I think he knows your mother.'

She nodded, pretending to be appeased with this answer. 'Could I ask what your name is?'

He seemed to hesitate before answering. 'It's Edward. '

She smiled before having to stifle a yawn. He noticed and pointed towards the house. 'Quick, to be bed before you fall asleep in the roses.'

She laughed and waved brightly before turning and heading up to the house, looking back now and then to see him standing at the gate, watching her to make sure she was doing as she was told. With one last glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the house, carefully closing the door behind her. Once inside, she ran as quietly and quickly as she could up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she fumbled with the curtains until she was at the window, her nose pressed to the glass.

He was gone. Vanished as if like a shadow.

She frowned, confused. There was not a chance that he could've reached his home already, even if he'd sprinted. She'd fairly bolted up the stairs.

Pondering this, she fixed the curtains and took off her gown and slippers, getting back into bed. Edward was a mystery, that was certain, but he was a nice mystery. She smiled as she pulled the covers over her body and wriggled down under the warm blankets. Comfortable, she closed her eyes, unsure of whether she'd be able to ever go to sleep considering her excitement, but with perfect timing, the timid strains of a familiar lullaby drifted into the room, relaxing her almost instantly.

'Good night, Edward,' she sighed sleepily, a smile on her face as she drifted off into dreams full of music and angels with white hands and strange, sparkling topaz eyes.

_

* * *

_

Disclaimer: I don't own Edward or anything Twilight-ish, they belong to Stephenie Meyer. The lyrics and title belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber. kapeesh?

So I'm hoping that wasn't too random.. it was supposed to be around the time that Carlisle found Rosalie but ended up being a little more old-fashioned. But i hope it made sense anyway. I really liked the idea.

Let me know. xo


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